


Hinges

by bastard (Nicked)



Category: The Young Ones (TV 1982)
Genre: Coming Out, Depression, Gender Dysphoria, Genderfluid Character, Other, Tags may change/be added, Trans Character, agender ace neil, focused more on platonic relationships & bonding than ships sorry, genderfluid (p)rick, rick is the focus rn but every character will feature p equally, trans guy vyv, trans mike (the cool person)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 19:23:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5176784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicked/pseuds/bastard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick's coming out sparks some... thingy. Closets are blown wide open, incense is burned (chill out, man), many things shift and change, but everything remains inexplicably the same. Mike lives up to his status.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hinges

**Author's Note:**

> Please bear w/ me, I haven't written jack-shit in literal years & this is some p self-indulgent garbage.

Neil listened, neck craned towards the door. There it was again-- the muffled whisper of his name and “ _wake up_ ” and “ _bastard_ ”. He slid off the bed, pulling the duvet with him and draping it over his shoulders against the chill night air. He went to the door.

    “Oh... Hi, Rick…” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “What time is it?”

    “Half past four, I think,” Rick whispered quickly; agitated, fidgety. He was fully dressed but what he wore was crumpled and blotchy with sweat, seemingly slept-in. His eyes were bloodshot and swollen and bugged out even more than usual. He reminded Neil of an anxious chihuahua.

    “In the morning?”

    “Yes, unless the sun’s suddenly gone out! What do you _think_?”

    “Alright, alright-- no need to get confrontational ‘bout it! Jeez. Four, huh? That’s either very late or very early, depending on how you come at it...”

    Rick didn’t reply or offer any explanation for his presence, just glanced fearfully around the darkened landing.

    “D’ya wanna come in, then?” Neil invited, too drowsy to think of anything past basic social niceties. Rick nearly hesitated before muttering a bitter affirmative, pushing past, and barging into the room. He dropped himself at the foot of Neil’s bed and jammed both hands into his lap, radiating anxiety. Neil sat near him, blinking, gradually waking up to a marginally more functional state. Rick let him take his time and kept quiet, staring intensely at the floorboards as he waited, unwilling to be the first to speak.

“So,” Neil finally said with a yawn, “we missed you at supper. I made lentils.”

“There’s a surprise...”

“In fact, we missed you for lunch, too. And breakfast. And most yesterday as well.”

“...Yes.”

“We were starting to get worried.”

Rick emitted a hollow laugh. “That seems unlikely.”

“Well… more like we started noticing that it’d gotten much quieter and less mind-numbingly horrible. Uh, I mean, are you sick or something?”

Rick tensed a bit but made no response. Neil pulled his hair back to get a clear look at the pimply student, scanning him.

“You contagious?”

The wannabe-anarchist snorted and shook his head.

“I’m _not_ ‘sick’. Just--” He broke off with a huff.

Neil cocked an eyebrow. “What’s going on, then?” He asked in a high voice, trying his very best not to sound invasive.

“Ah, yes, well…” Rick’s voice shook slightly. “I’ve been asking myself that for… years? My whole life, possibly? What is going on, that _is_ the question, isn’t it.” Neil nodded.

“Yeah, it is. I just asked it. And you haven’t answered, at all.”

“Well, don’t rush me! Lordy, have some sympathy-- it’s a _dewicate_ subject!”

“What, have you got that rash again? I’ve still got some of that herbal ointm-”

“No! No, this is diffewent. This is a level of delicate subjects far beyond-- beyond...” Fear flashed in Rick’s eyes. He quickly looked away and chewed his thumb in contemplation.

“... What’s more delicate than a rash on your knob?”

“Look, will you _shut up_ about that?! I am _twying_ to have a _sewious_ discussion, here, _Neil_!”

“Right, sorry! Jeez… Couldn’t it’ve waited ‘till, like, morning, though?”

“No. It took me this long to work up the… to… now. It has to be now, I’ve just got to-- Neil, I’m going to tell you something and you have to swear-- SWEAR!-- not to tell anyone! Not t-to b-b-bweathe a word of it! Got it?” He jammed a threatening, if trembling, finger at Neil’s face, biting down hard on his lower lip.

Neil’s mouth moved like a fish’s, gawping, but he nodded. Then, noticing, he leaned in and peered at the glimmer he thought he’d seen on the other’s cheek. “Ah,” he pointed, “Rick?”

Rick’s hands flew to his face to cover the unexpected tears. “ _Shhh-shut up!_ I’m n-not cwying-- don’t look at me--!”

“Oh man, this is really heavy… Relax! Do some breathing…!” Neil rubbed gentle circles into the student’s hunched back, which was knotted and strained. “Breathe in… hold for a sec… breathe out… whoosh, there you go. I’ve got some lavender extract, it’ll help you find your mellow, lemme just--”

“‘S alright, don’t bother,” Rick straightened up a bit, scrubbing unceremoniously at his face with his sleeve. He took a moment to compose himself. “I told myself I wouldn’t do that. I _told_ myself. This is so _bloody_ stupid,” he sniffed.

“Yeah,” Neil agreed.

“Shut _up_ , Neil.”

“...Heavy.”

“It’s… it’s been a long few days, I haven’t gotten much rest. My, uh, eyes are just watery from being open so long. And your room is dusty. Well, it’s filthy. I’m obviously allergic.”

“Okay, Rick.”

They sat in an awkward silence once more.

 

“Wait, what was stupid again?” Neil squinted, perplexed, having lost what little of the plot he held in the first place. The poet let out a grand, melodramatic sigh.

    “ _You are_ , ploppy-pants!” He sneered. “And, well-- and this entire situation, honestly. I don’t even know why I came here, of all places…”

    “Yeah, I don’t know why you came here either… at half past four in the am… must be quarter ‘till, now...” Neil’s voice and expression drifted off into a mysterious haze. “What is it that’s so, like, delicate an’ heavy, anyway? You got a tumour? Were you abducted by a UFO? Are you switching political parties, coming out of the cupboard, finding religion? Was it you who ate the shaving cream after all? Or-”

    “Ah, wait! That-- the, it’s one in there!”

    “Alien abduction?”

    Rick shook his head and Neil pondered.

    “Charades?” He suggested.

    Rick considered this for a moment before clapping his hands together, standing, and placing himself in the centre of the room. He gestured at himself and clumsily mimed opening and walking through an invisible doorway, posturing grandly at the end. Neil gasped.

    “You’ve found a gateway to a higher plane of existence! Brilliant!”

    The poet grunted. “That wasn’t one of the options, _Neil_! For Cliff’s sake, you’re such a-- ahh, again, again, we’ll do it again.” He repeated the motions with considerably less patience. Neil’s brow puckered and he rested his jaw on his fist. Rick tapped his foot. The hippie finally looked up at him and smiled sweetly.

    “I’m not that stupid, y’know. It’s not like I don’t already know you’re gay, Rick.”

    Rick lurched backwards and fell into a stunned, sputtering state.

    “I mean, you don’t gotta wind yourself up like this. ‘S not a big deal, I don’t mind you’re gay.”

    “But-but--!”

“I dunno if Mike and Vyvyan are, like, aware, but-”

“No! Shut-shut up! Yes, I-- whatever, that’s not what I came here to discuss! This is about something, not the ‘gay’ thing, which I-- well… it’s just something different.”

    “Different?”

    “Mm-hmm.”

    “But still, like, a coming out sort of deal.”

    “Yes.”

    “... Alright, I give up. Tell me.”

    “Ah, well, the thing is, I- uh, I… sometimes, I--”

    “Wait a moment, you’re not coming on to me, are you?”

    “What? Oh please-- absolutely not! The very idea!”

    “Oh. Just checking.”

    “Well I’ve lost my train of thought, now. _Bravo, hippie._ What did I get up to?”

    “Nothing, yet. Sun’s gonna be coming up soon, too. Good thing I’m already an insomniac half the time, or else I’d probably be cross.”

    “Nothing… _nothing_? Well, then, I suppose I must start from the beginning…” Rick’s eyes took on a distant, hazed look and he sat back down on the bed with a thud. He rubbed his hands together and chewed at his lower lip.

    “... You gonna start?”

    “... I’m not sure… where to start,” he admitted.

    “Well then, maybe you should go sleep on it and get back to me tomorrow.”

    “No, no-- I can do it, I just…”

    “Go on then. And I’m not gonna judge you, just so you know.”

    “...I…”

    “... Yeah?”

    Rick’s face screwed up and he took a wheezing inhale, held it with the intent to speak, but ended up exhaling, pitifully silent. He paused, disappointed, before shaking his head in defeat.

    “Ah, well,” Neil patted his housemate on the back, “maybe tomorrow, yeah?”

The poet opened his mouth with intent to confirm but an unintelligible whisper fell out instead. He recoiled as though he’d surprised himself. The hippie squinted with his eyes since he couldn’t physically squint with his ears.

“Pardon?”

“ _Sometimes-I-feel-like-a-girl_ ,” Rick quickly repeated, more audibly.

Neil blinked once.

“Uh… that is…what I wanted to say.” He began to sweat.

Neil gestured for him to continue.

“Okay...alwight...” he mumbled inwardly. He swallowed sharply, took a gulping breath, and began again:

“Sometimes I feel like a girl and I l-like to wear girly clothes and dresses and make-up and to look-- well, to _be a girl_. And then other times I still feel like a _boy_ and… it goes back-- back and forth like that, and-- oh-- _I don’t know what to do anymore!_ ” His voice grew high-pitched and frantic as the words flooded out. “I d-don’t know… who to go to…? I can’t _do_ anything about it, I can’t ever _‘come out of the cupboard’_ about it. I don’t know what _they’d_ do if I did…” He made a stricken gesture at the door. “What would they think? Mummy and daddy would disown me, Vyvyan would most likely kill me, Michael would lose _all_ respect for me-- I would be a disgrace! The only-- the only weason I’m t-telling you is ‘cos no-one ever listens to anything _you_ say, anyway. _Hippie!_ ” The disparaging emphasis on the last word fell flat, devoid of its usual malice. “And-and-and if I didn’t tell someone,” his voice cracked, “I was bloody well going t-to lose my mind!” His voice devolved into a bleak whisper. “I d-d-don’t know how long I can keep living like this, hiding all the time-- It’s getting to the point where I never want to leave my room ‘cos I’m so tired of putting up this fwont. Living this false life. I’m tired of being scared all the time...” He peeked up at his housemate.

Neil hadn’t moved, his expression blank and unreadable, his jaw slack. The poet’s stomach dropped.

“Uh,” Rick croaked, face reddening and tears reforming in his wide, fearful eyes, “I-I didn’t-- I’m sowry, this was a m-mistake. I shouldn't have-- I’m gonna-- just gonna go--” He quickly pushed himself off the bed, his body stiff and tense and painful as he pressed towards the door. The question of walking distance to the nearest bridge was the only defined thought amidst a haze of stark panic.

“Aw, Rick, wait--!” Neil hopped up and grabbed his upper arm before he could reach the doorknob. Rick froze, his chest tightening as the hippie turned him back into the room.

“‘S alright, mate! I was just, like, a bit surprised is all. Don’t be upset-- uh, you’re alright by me!” The long-haired student assured him gently-- earnestly-- as he held him by the shoulders with large, sweaty hands. “Like I said, I’m not gonna judge you... I’m very cool with unconventional lifestyles and, like, forms of expression. You’re cool-- we’re cool. So take it easy-- relax. Please don’t be upset...” The poet stood rigidly, staring vacantly into the taller man’s stain-splotched pyjama top, unable to meet his eyes, fists clenched and shaking against the pit of his stomach, his breath coming in short gasps. He crumpled and fell against Neil’s chest, sobbing violently. The hippie wrapped his arms around him, holding him steady as he wailed.

“You’re gonna be alright, Rick,” he cooed as he pet the back of the sniveling poet’s head. “Shhhhhhh, you’re okay. I’m here for ya. You’ve got nothing to be afraid of or ashamed of... I think you make a very nice girl.”

Rick let out a wheezing, happy sigh and buried his face in Neil’s now damp, snotty shirt and flabby torso, tension easing out of him. They stood like that for a while, gentle swaying from side to side; like a mother comforting a child after a bad dream. Rick stopped crying at some point and closed his eyes, emotionally and physically spent, unquestioningly content to use his housemate as support.

 

It was Neil who broke the comfortable silence, waking the other from his sleepy state. “Sorry about the dress.”

Rick blinked, confused, before the pieces fell together. He smiled mildly. “Ah, well. That’s alright.” Then, realising the intimacy of their situation, broke the hug and stepped back, embarrassed.

“If I’d known, y’know, I wouldn’t’ve made a fuss of it to the lads.” He paused and scratched the back of his scalp. “Will you tell them, do you think?”

“No. No, I don’t think so. Not… not anytime soon, anyway.”

“Can I ask, like, why you told me? ‘Cos I thought that you hated me.”

“I _do_ hate you, Neil,” Rick said quietly. “But despite this fact, I believe, for some ungodly reason, that _you don’t hate me_.”

“Oh...” Neil shifted as he considered this and pinched his chin. A wry expression tugged at his mouth.“That can fuckin’ change, you know.”

Rick laughed.

 


End file.
